


Alternian Mercy

by takara_twisted



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Casteism | Hemophobia (Homestuck), Cervix Penetration, Come Inflation, Corporal Punishment, Degradation, Dirty Talk, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Large Cock, Multiple Orgasms, Painful Sex, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Public Humiliation, Public Masturbation, Public Sex, Rape, Size Difference, Slavery, Torture, belly bulge, broken teeth, excessive cum, extreme content, injury by cum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26301976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takara_twisted/pseuds/takara_twisted
Summary: Request: "Rape as judicial punishment. Nepeta has been found guilty of a crime, and her punishment is to be raped by Darkleer. Equius patches her up afterwards." Please read the tags with all due care!
Relationships: Executor Darkleer/Nepeta Leijon, Nepeta Leijon & Equius Zahhak
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35
Collections: Sloppy Seconds 2020





	Alternian Mercy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mirradin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirradin/gifts).



_“Should a highblood in good standing, of cerulean rank or higher, vouch for the condemned, the death penalty shall be commuted to lifetime enslavement in the custody of the House of the aforementioned highblood…”_

As the legislacerator reads out the law, Equius allows himself to relax. Nepeta will live. She’ll be a slave of House Zahhak, but in name only, and there she’ll be safe. She’ll never dally with the rebels again; surely this close call will mean she’ll never want to. Nepeta, chained in the condemned box and dressed in de-signed prison grey, sags, almost as much sweat as Equius’ usual output soaking her forehead and hair. Darkleer - for of course they would assign the executioner most affected by the plaintiff’s sentencing, it is as much a warning to high as low - does not move, but Equius notices the slight relaxing of his jaw, the rapid exhale of his breath.

The legislacerator adjusts her glasses and turns the page. _“… after the administration of additional punishments at the discretion of the presiding highblood.”_

Equius’ heart stops. His eyes latch onto the presiding highblood in question. The Highblood. The Grand Highblood himself has a particular grudge against the rebels, and has been present for every trial. His Honourable Tyranny snorts and snuffles and dips his head to the Highblood like a dog, and the Grand Highblood lounges on his throne with the ease of a cat.

Nepeta’s a rebel leader’s grub. He’ll never let her survive.

The Highblood looks like he’s pretending to think. He knew this law before, Equius realises. Of course he did. He knew Equius would step in. Equius’ ancestor will have told him everything; they are a law-abiding, Empress-fearing family, until Nepeta’s ancestor came back into her life and ran away with her there was no reason to think differently, no reason not to talk to him. He wants to be sick.

The Highblood speaks, with the bass boom of tomb doors slamming. “Take her outside. Let this be seen in broad moonlight.”

A drone on each side, hands cuffed behind her back, barefoot, Nepeta marches outside, and the assembled witnesses follow. There’s a crowd. There are cameras. Darkleer squeezes Equius’ shoulder, gently, gently, with perfect control. Equius thinks of how strongly that hand can wield a whip. Nepeta would be split right in half with one blow.

The drones direct Nepeta towards the flogging jut, but the Grand Highblood takes over and steers her to a stone slab, tilted upwards to provide the audience a clear view. A sacrificial altar big enough to hold hoofbeasts, stained rainbow, chains at the corners long enough to reach Nepeta’s little body in the centre. She’s pinned, flat on her back, camera droids hovering around her, catching her face. She is not crying, but she bites her lip and darts her eyes from side to side, concerned, apprehensive. The Highblood leans on the altar’s edge, looking down at her and clicking his tongue at her like a jadeblood to an errant grub. And then - just about as suddenly as that, too - he grabs the seam of her prison-issue tunic, her only garment, and rips it right off her body.

The crowd goes wild. Equius bites down and cracks another tooth, but this is still within the realms of normal. Flogging with the clothes on is actually a lot worse. The cloth gets forced inside the wounds, causes all manner of irritation and infection. Maybe, he dares to hope, this small kindness is a sign Nepeta will survive this.

“Look and learn, my wicked wigglers!” roars the Highblood, hand on Nepeta’s muscled hip. “Behold the traitor! Now, her _loyal moirail-”_ his words drip with irony, “-has been a good boy and begged my pardon for her, and he’s no rebel, so the Mirthful will be merciful! This one shall live to serve him!” Cries of disappointment mingle with cheers, and the Highblood nods. “Fear not, my brothers and sisters, there will be blood! The rebel will not go unpunished!” The cheers reach a crescendo, until he raises his hands and a hush falls. “This one-” His claws dig into Nepeta’s face, leaving green marks, and he pulls her head to the side. “-was hatched the grub of rebels, and her line lay down with mutants! It’s only fair…” and his fangs glitter in the moonlight, and Equius’ stomach drops and his heart stops as he realises where this is going, “that our trusted highblood teach her better whose genes she _should_ be takin’!”

Blood drains from Darkleer’s face, and he steps in between Equius and the Highblood, but the Highblood is looking at Darkleer instead anyway. “Sir?”

“You know what I mean, Executor,” says the Highblood, smirking. “Get that bulge out, and then get it in!”

The howls from the crowd start up again. Nepeta is pale, trembling, eyes watering green. Equius sags against the courthouse wall and slides down to sit on the ground. Darkleer isn’t looking at him. Darkleer cares very little for a rebel’s fate, but he knows Equius cares for this one.

The altar looks like simple stone from a distance, but the Messiahs moved with the times like all trolls; the base is a concealed mechanism, well-waterproofed. The Highblood hits a lever, and the tilted top stone drops back, leaving Nepeta’s feet slightly higher than her head and allowing the crowd to look between her chained legs and directly up her nook. Hoots and hollers ring out, but there’s no time for her to be embarrassed, as the base rotates so she’s now sideways-on to them, so her punisher’s body won’t block her entirely from view for the highbloods at the front of the crowd. Not that the others will miss out; there’s a billboard screen beside the courthouse building for crowds such as this to get a good view. The hovering little camera droids move closer, and a closeup of Nepeta’s angry, humiliated face split-screens with one of her closed sheath and bone-dry seedflap. Darkleer hasn’t moved at all.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” asks the Highblood, and Darkleer swallows and starts to undo the fly of his jumpsuit. He moves slowly, clumsily, though Equius has seen those huge hands (big enough for just one to crush Nepeta’s entire head) work with microscopic wires, accurate to thousandths of an inch. The crowd is impatient; shouted instructions to hurry up, accusations of impotence, offers to take his place, all echo round the execution yard, joined by the occasional piece of thrown trash from a violet or a daring purple.

“Well, while he figures out how to work his pants,” the Highblood says, greeted with much laughter, “we better get this kittybitch warmed up! I did say she’d survive this, after all…”

Even just the fingers he holds up and flexes are each bigger than the average olive’s bulge, and each is tipped with a long, vicious claw. Nepeta squeals and thrashes in her bonds when one moves towards her groin, but the pad of the finger simply rests on her sheath, rubbing back and forth, as gentle as such a terrifying natural weapon can be, and how incongruous it seems indeed. Nepeta’s cries of fright turn to whimpers, and her face turns greener; she bites her lip, and sweats, and reacts against her will. Equius isn’t looking at the screen and can’t see from this angle, but he knows what arousal looks like in general, and has a clearer mental image than he ever wanted of her nook lips opening up like a blooming flower, pearly green moisture on the Highblood’s fingers, her bulge sliding out and seeking pressure.

“Kitty’s in heat,” murmurs the Highblood, and he kneels down to sniff her hair, then the sweat and slime on her thighs. There’s a sloppy sound as he licks his fingers, and a wet, gristly one drowned out by a wail as he pushes one finger inside. For once in his time as her overprotective moirail, Equius is glad Nepeta’s not a virgin; that this won’t be her only experience of sex, even if it is her last, as seems likely; that her body is somewhat used to such intrusion and can stretch at least a little. Even so, none of the friends she’s pailed with had claws anything like so sharp, and there’s nothing that could be done to prepare for that. Equius remembers Nepeta’s claw-gloves, and thinks the Highblood’s claws might be worse. She stays still, fearful of being cut, while the Highblood slides his finger in and out, stretching and spreading her lubrication; she yelps and grits her teeth when he removes his finger and teases her nooklips with his even thicker thumb. He laughs. “You’ll be takin’ more than that soon.” He glances over and pointedly adds “If the Executor can _find_ it.”

Darkleer’s fly is undone, but he’s not unsheathed. Equius never particularly thought, or wanted to think, about his ancestor’s genitals, but he can’t not look; the very least he can do is know exactly what Nepeta is going to suffer through. The night-blue tip which emerges is not a graceful, slim point like most troll bulges; it’s thick and broad, domed, bulging, a little like a hoofbeast’s, albeit flexible, squirming and seeking for a hole. Quite like Equius’ own, but bigger. Nepeta won’t even be granted the reprieve of easy entry, and as more emerges (and more, and more) it gets thicker. It’s hard to tell from where Equius sits, but he’s sure by the end of it the whole thing must be the size of one of Nepeta’s not-insubstantial thighs, and the camera angles on the screen are arranged to make it look even bigger. A purple would have a hard time taking that thing, never mind a fairly small olive. Nepeta’s tears are flowing freely now, though she’s not sobbing, simply staring in shock. Darkleer’s expression remains mostly the same, but his teeth are clenched. There are small spots of high colour on his cheekbones, but his hands move mechanically, uninterestedly.

A chant starts up in the crowd - “fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK, FUCK” - and the Highblood grabs Darkleer by the bulge and drags him over to the altar.

As Darkleer looms over Nepeta, his bulge crawls over her, leaving blue slick on her skin which mingles with the much thinner blue of his dripping sweat and the green of hers. The camera angle makes it look like his bulge tip reaches her breastbone. Equius hopes it’s the camera angle. Darkleer unchains Nepeta’s ankles and pulls them up, pushing her legs back with his torso, forcing her body into a painful mating press; he’s so much bigger, her legs simply can’t reach around his waist. The chant around them gets louder than ever. Nepeta is shaking, sniffling, and Darkleer doesn’t touch her, but rests one hand beside her face, and she turns her head and rests her cheek against his finger, the only comfort she’ll receive. The only comfort Darkleer could pass off as incidental, or Equius hopes so, hopes it was intentional on Darkleer’s part, since Equius can’t be there instead (and thank God and Mother Grub for that).

The screen shows a closeup between Darkleer’s legs, his bulge feeling its way over her thighs and up-thrust buttocks; the chant continues, faster, more impatient hollers join it, and Darkleer can’t put it off anymore; he takes his bulge in one huge hand and guides it to Nepeta’s nook, and the crowd goes wilder than ever, not fully drowning out Nepeta’s scream.

The cameras caught that scream, and they replay it over the screen’s speakers, again and again, accompanied by different angle shots of Nepeta’s nook and face, both smeared in green. More sounds are edited out of the cacophony and played; the awful wet tearing sound of penetration, and cries of encouragement from the watching highbloods.

“Split that sawed-off little slimeblood open!”

“Fill up her guts till she pops!”

“Fuck her slurry sacs right up out of her mouth!”

Nepeta’s nooklips are sore and puffy from the pressure already, and as more of the cold, heavy length feeds into her she lets out high, whistling breaths between her gritted teeth. He hits the inner flap quickly, and unlike a mammalian cervix it’s under some level of conscious control, to hold in and let out as much carried geneslime as possible at the appropriate times, but it still isn’t meant to open far, and she screeches as he pushes up against it, again and again, until it forces open. More bulge _pours_ into her, thrashing in deeper, filling her up until it’s certainly not just a trick of the camera that her belly’s bulging out and the translucent green-blue-teal-smeary lubrication of her nook and his bulge is tinted with murky green blood. She’s weeping in earnest now. So is Equius. Darkleer looks like he wants to. The crowd are cheering. Some are self-pailing right there. And the Highblood is smiling.

Of course, that isn’t the end of it, not by far. It won’t be over until he’s spilled in her. They could all guess, but the Grand Highblood confirms it with “You want her as a slave, prove she’s got a use!” And so Darkleer pulls back, and slowly pushes the entire length of his bulge back in again. Nepeta gasps, her eyes roll, but she has no breath left to scream.

Darkleer cautiously finds a rhythm, a balance between slow enough to lessen the risk of actually splitting Nepeta’s belly open and fast enough to get this over with in a reasonable period of time. The pain must have levelled out, as Nepeta is back to huffing short sharp breaths. Equius has witnessed beasts giving birth before, and is reminded of that now. The outline of Darkleer’s bulge tip writhes beneath her muscled abdomen, pushing it outwards from within. Her bulge tries to retract, but is forced out of its sheath; she’s simply stuffed too full to fit it in. Her hands clutch white-knuckled at her chains; foam flows freely from her lips, and blood from her nook. She groans, and her lips move, silently, but visible. “Y-you’re fucking up my pusseee…”

Even Nepeta doesn’t seem to notice until it’s almost upon her. It was inevitable from the start; her overstressed, over-sensitised body (back rubbed raw on the stone, blood rushing to her head, legs almost popped out of joint, and all that before the brutal depth and breadth her nook is stretched to) takes the only route it can to process what is happening to it. Humiliated as she is, there is nothing she can do to stop it, hard as she tries; her toes curl, her legs tense, her back arches, and she howls out in a long, intense, bone-rattling orgasm the likes of which no partner she’s had willingly has ever given her. Green slurry spills out all over her belly and Darkleer’s legs from her tensed bulge, and the surrounding chants and cheers are accompanied by laughter. Her head lolls, she looks ready to pass out, but the Highblood slaps her awake. She won’t be allowed to miss any of it. Small mercy; the hormone rush of orgasm dampens the pain response.

She comes twice more before Darkleer is able to, weaker each time; by the third time she just lolls limply on the slab and lets it happen, only a trickle of green left to emerge from her bulge. Her eyes have rolled back till only a tiny sliver of iris is visible in each, mostly green-shot yellow sclera left, and her tongue tip hangs out of her mouth, swollen and dry. She’s silent now, but her chest heaves; she’s alive.

Equius doesn’t want to speculate what Darkleer’s thinking to get himself to spill, but he finally does with a muffled groan, fingers leaving deep gouges in the stone, several clench-cracked teeth flying. His squirming bulge goes rigid, forcing further up inside Nepeta than ever, and sprays slurry into her with the force of a hosepipe (Equius wonders if it’s doing as much damage as his bulge did), little squirts of blue emerging from her tight-packed nook but most building up inside her, forming a swollen slurry-gut that makes her look like a mammal ready to drop a litter. Yells of “Highblood’s bucket!” surround them, and Darkleer is left with the task of disengaging without disembowelling her. Carefully, millimetres at a time, he pulls back, passage lubed by geneslime and blood, and Nepeta, left over-sensitive and high on adrenaline, spasms and comes again just from that movement. Darkleer’s bulge untangles inside her and the fat tip flops out, and now there’s nothing to block his sloppy thick blue cum or her blood from rushing right out of her, pouring over the edge of the altar in a small waterfall.

The Grand Highblood pauses in writing something down on a notepad to lead the applause. Equius had barely remembered he was there. The Highblood steps up, pats Nepeta’s face a few times, and grins when she groans. He pushes a camera droid into place and holds up the notepad away from its view but in Nepeta’s line of sight. Her eyes focus again, her eyebrows rise and she looks ready to snarl and bite, but he taps the notepad meaningfully.

“H-hello, Alternia,” she reads, shakily, fake smile plastered on. “I was the grub of the Signless’ Disciple, lover of mutants, leader of rebels. But… but now I’m a-a _highblood-raped piece of shit_ who knows my place! All lowbloods should be honoured to serve as buckets for their betters!” Her voice cracks on a sob. “Are you p-proud of me, Mom?”

The Highblood drops the notebook and unchains Nepeta’s hands, and beckons Equius over. Equius runs, and Nepeta is dumped unceremoniously in his arms, soaking his clothes with everything falling out of her, but he barely notices. She’s breathing. She’s breathing.

“You still want her?” the Highblood asks. Equius nods, though he’s not sure if it was a sincere question. “Then take her.”

Equius drops to his knees and lays Nepeta on the ground, on her side so she’ll feel less vulnerable; she curls up around her painful gut. Gently, oh so gently, he moves her leg so he can see the damage. Her nook’s closing up, healthy troll flesh is resilient, but it’s still gaping as wide as her fist and he smells blood. He picks up the dirty prison rags from the ground and wraps her body in them, and for lack of anything better, he takes off his tank top, rips strips off it, and packs them into her nook.

“Wh-what are you…?” she mumbles, but she’s too weak to struggle.

“Sorry. So sorry. I need to stem the blood flow. I know you won’t want me to but-”

“‘Sokay. Do what you have to.”

He pauses. “I-I’m so sorry, Nepeta. I had no idea this would happen. I just wanted you alive.”

“Don’t blame you.” She coughs, all free liquid in her body lost in come and sweat and blood and tears. “C’n talk about it later. Need to… sleep…”

Equius’ first instinct is to beg her to stay awake, but it’s not like he needs her to tell him where she’s hurt, and he can’t in good conscience leave her aware of what’s happened any longer. He holds her hand as she passes out, and checks her breathing. Still as okay as it can be. She can rest.

“You done?”

Equius looks at the Highblood and nods. He does not look at his ancestor, and Darkleer isn’t looking at him. His eye catches the fallen notebook; above the lines Nepeta was forced to say, he reads **READ THIS OUT LOUD OR YOUR MOIRAIL IS NEXT.**

“Then get her out of here.”

With all haste, he does.

~

That night, two trolls flee House Zahhak towards the rebel base. One has to carry the other.


End file.
